Lately, I've been spending a good bit of time minimizing. Shifting through the overpacked closet and stuffed drawers, sorting through books, papers and files, and, most importantly the junk drawer(s). I started with one of my office drawers, though organized, at the very bottom I felt something peculiar. After sticking my finger, uttering a four letter word (or two), I pulled out a fly patch. A fly patch, in my office drawer. Note: I do not tie flies, organize boxes, or clean out waders, packs, etc... in my office, it is strictly for sewing and writing. Pushing a few files out of the way, I retrieved two full pucks of flies and a lonely mop fly, all tangled and messy.

This led into a day of crazily searching all of my drawers. Sock drawer, t-shirt drawer, junk drawer, kitchen utensil drawer, you get the idea. Once I had exhausted every single drawer in the house, I was now the proud owner of enough flies to fill a box, everything from streamers to eggs.

These discoveries ultimately led to a deeper examination of my life, as all things fishing related usually do.

Jacob always says "it's not a hobby, it's a lifestyle," and I'm not sure I ever fully understood that until the drawer incident. You see, fly fishing has literally spread into every facet of our lives, even the tucked away messy parts.

I've decided to leave the crushed up fly patch on my desk, to remind me of the messy parts. After all, that 'injured' and tangled prince nymph could probably still catch a fish, despite being neglected in a desk for years.